And, with my mileage goals met yesterday, I could retrace the route that kept me going, the route that I ran when I needed a day (mostly) off, or when I had no time to run, but had to run anyway.

With the dog by my side, jumping and spinning with excitement like a hyper-active kid on caffeine on a pogo-stick on a trampoline, we started the watch and made for the 1.4 mile safety route.

My safety route includes a tiny stretch of trail nestled in a spot of woods. These woods have been my refuge so many times this year, giving me shelter from wind, sun, rain, sleet, and the world in general. This trail never failed to lift my mood and clear my head. It was great to be able to run it again, without snow.

After the woods, headed home, I checked the GPS watch... 1.01 miles. There it was. For the 365th day in a row, I'd run at least a mile. And every one of those runs took place outside. A moment that seemed so impossibly far away not that long ago, had arrived. It felt pretty damn good.

When we came to our street, the home stretch, that feeling was back. It's that familiar feeling that comes at the end of almost every run. The feeling of not wanting the run to end. And this time, it didn't.

We skipped the last turn and took one more lap of the neighborhood, including the winding street where dozens of our longer home runs have started and finished.

Our street came back around, and this time we took it. We picked up the pace on the gentle rise, waved at a couple neighbors, and when we hit the line, I stopped the watch.